


yes, honey, do come

by AliuIce0814



Series: Georgia Peaches SMAU [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Established Relationship, Georgia Peaches SMAU, Ghosts, Loving Sex, M/M, Rimming, maine, mid-20s losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: Mike Hanlon and Bill Denbrough have a lovely night in at their Bangor residence.Set in the Georgia Peaches SMAU.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Series: Georgia Peaches SMAU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126352
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	yes, honey, do come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleBird20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBird20/gifts).



> Hello! More Georgia Peaches content (@GeorgiaSMAU on Twitter). You don't have to read the SMAU to understand this, although you're welcome to! All you need to know is
> 
> -the clown still happened, but the Losers never forgot each other  
> -the Losers are in their mid-20s in 2020  
> -Mike and Bill are in a committed relationship  
> -they share a home in Bangor with a benevolent ghost  
> -Mike is a librarian and Bill is a debut author

The ghost is in the kitchen when Mike gets home from work. He can feel her in the way people in books often do; the fine hair on his arms certainly stands up. But he can hear her, too, not with his ears but like a whisper in his mind, the way Bill describes the Turtle. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Williams,” Mike says, toeing off his shoes by the side door. He sets his messenger bag on the old oak dining room table before he steps into the kitchen. Mrs. Williams’ presence is stronger there. Mike stands still for a moment until he’s tuned in enough to get the sense of a friendly hello. A questioning sense follows it. “Doing just fine,” Mike replies. He washes his hands at the sink. Bill’s put out a new soap, one labeled Sweater Weather that smells a little like the cologne Mike wore in college. Mike smiles while he dries his hands on the dish towel. “How about you? You’re doing well?”

Mike feels a rush of warmth. He opens the fridge and pulls out two beers, some craft IPA one of Bill’s writer friends recommended. Bill should be home from his afternoon walk soon, and he’ll want something to drink with dinner. “Good,” Mike says to the ghost of Mrs. Williams. “You know, I think you’d like my new book group,” he adds. He and Bill were delighted to discover, after several questionable rituals and some deep-diving research, that their resident ghost used to be the head librarian at Bangor’s first library. “They’re older ladies from the assisted living facility - it was the old folks’ home when you worked at the library. One of the husbands hangs around too, but he’s too embarrassed to read Little Women.” Mike grins at the wave of amusement he gets from Mrs. Williams. “I know! I told him he would like it. Maybe he’ll borrow it when his wife’s finished with it, who knows.” 

The front door creaks open. “Afternoon, Mrs. Williams,” Bill calls. “Hey, M-M-Mikey.” 

Mike smiles at the squeak of the original wooden floorboards under Bill’s feet. He waits until Bill’s in the kitchen to say “Hey, handsome,” just so he can see Bill blush. Bill was nervous at first about being romantic around Mrs. Williams - she’s from a different era, after all - but either she’s managed to keep up with the times despite the whole being dead thing, or she was an open-minded lady even in the early 1900s. She remains a warm, soft presence as Bill wraps his arms around Mike and kisses him. Bill smells crisp and earthy, and his nose is cold and pink from his walk. Mike kisses him again. “How’s it going, lover?”

Bill grimaces. “Pretty p-poorly as far as writing goes. Had to have my agent yell at my publisher about the - the - the….” Bill pulls away from Mike and raps his knuckles on the counter. Mike waits while Bill checks on the food in the crock-pot. “Publisher wanted to make changes I wasn’t comfortable with. Sort of cut c-characters’ queer-queerness at the knees. But Amy told them off.” 

“Good.” Mike’s had a soft spot for Amy the agent ever since she let Bill keep the winding poetic section about rural Maine in the middle of his debut thriller. 

“How’s the library?”

“I think some of the older ladies in book group have a crush on Jo March.”

“As they should!” Bill goes on tiptoe to pull two plates down from the top cabinet. Mike could help him reach, and often does, but tonight Bill darts a look back at him and wiggles his ass. Mike lets a slow, easy smile spool across his face. So it’s like that. “Just wait ‘til they watch the new movie and see Saorise Ronan.” 

“Oh, I’m planning on showing them that one.” Mike collects the silverware and carries it to the kitchen table. He pauses halfway through folding a napkin, aware again of Mrs. Williams. “Hey Bill, Mrs. Williams wants to know what’s for dinner.” 

“Short ribs. With carrots and onions.” Bill doles them out carefully. Steam spirals off the plates as he carries them to the table. He presses into Mike’s space to set down his plate at his place. Mike takes the opportunity to kiss the top of his head. 

They talk while they eat - they always do, about what Bill read in the New Yorker today or Mike heard on NPR on his drive home. Mrs. Williams rarely interjects, but she’s a steady presence at the table until the sky outside is fully dark instead of a pale autumnal gray. 

“Good night, Mrs. Williams,” Mike says as he feels her start to ebb away. From several months of experience, he assumes she’ll linger in the front room for a while before making her way into the larger guest room for the night. Despite being dead, she likes to stick to a routine. 

“Good night,” Bill echoes. He keeps his eyes fixed on Mike until Mike nods, letting him know that Mrs. Williams is gone. Then one of his sock feet slowly sneaks up the leg of Mike’s pants. 

Mike flushes warm from head to toe. “Is that how it is?”

Bill smiles, a pleased, boyish expression that always makes him look like the kid Mike fell in love with. He strokes the inside of Mike’s leg with his toes for a moment before he says, “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and find out?”

They pause twice on the stairs. The first time, it’s because Bill has to get his hands under Mike’s shirt. He splays his fingers across Mike’s chest and backs him into the wall. Mike rolls with each of Bill’s hungry, open-mouthed kisses. His own hands find their way under the hem of Bill’s shirt and squeeze his hips. 

The second time they stop, it’s Mike’s fault. Bill’s right in front of him, one stair up, which puts his ass at the perfect height for Mike to grind up against. Bill gasps, then whines, grabbing Mike’s hands and pressing them to his hips to keep him right there. They kiss like that, Bill’s head tipped back, until Mike has to break away to catch his breath. 

Their bedroom isn’t the largest bedroom in the house. It used to be the maid’s quarters a century ago, just a small attic room with sloped ceilings and a porthole window. But heat rises, keeping them warm in the winter, and something about the closeness of the room makes Mike feel snug and safe. Bill pushes at his shoulders until he goes easily onto the bed in one corner of the room. Mike grabs Bill’s wrists to pull him down on top of him. 

They make out for a while, a slow press of mouths on top of the quilt Mike’s grandma made them. Wind rustles the dry leaves outside; Mike briefly thinks of the piles they still need to rake and the eaves they’ll have to clean once the trees are bare. Then Bill reaches around and squeezes Mike’s ass, and want licks up Mike like a flame up a match. He tips them both onto their sides so Bill can grab his ass better while Mike pops the first two buttons on Bill’s flannel shirt. When Mike digs his teeth into Bill’s collarbone, Bill groans. 

“Baby,” Mike says, pressing back into Bill’s hands. He gets three more of Bill’s buttons undone before Bill gets impatient and yanks off both of their shirts. Mike huffs out a laugh when Bill immediately latches onto one of his nipples. Bill quirks an eyebrow. His sharp blue eyes are already a little damp, a little emotional the way Bill always gets when they’re together. Not that it’s much different for Mike. He cards his fingers through Bill’s hair and teasingly pulls it back into a tiny ponytail. Bill smiles and drags his tongue over Mike’s nipple before blowing on it. Mike shivers. “Bill.”

“Whatcha want, Mikey?” Bill scrapes his teeth across Mike’s pec. One of his hands keeps kneading Mike’s ass. Mike catches Bill by the back pocket and hauls him closer until he can wedge his thigh between Bill’s legs and give him something to rock against. 

“How about you tell me what you want to do with me, huh?” Mike urges gently. Even seven years into their relationship, Bill still gets nervous about talking dirty. He seems to think his stutter ruins it, as if the words that spill out of his mouth when he touches Mike aren’t always poetry. But Mike knows Bill well enough to coax him into it now. He strokes Bill’s hair behind his ear, then rubs his thumb over Bill’s bottom lip until Bill’s tongue darts out to taste him. 

“I want to strip you,” Bill begins. He sucks Mike’s thumb into his mouth for a moment. “Want to be sk-ski-skin on skin.” He slips one hand down to Mike’s fly, and Mike takes care of Bill’s belt, easing him out of it, slipping his jeans down to his thighs until they both briefly have to roll apart to wriggle out of their clothes. 

When they come back together, Bill immediately presses against him, head-to-foot or as close to it as they can come - his toes press against Mike’s shins. His hard cock juts against Mike’s stomach. Mike ruts against Bill’s thigh until he gasps, then says, “What else?”

“I want your cock in my mouth.” Bill kneads restlessly at Mike’s ass while Mike mouths his way across Bill’s stubbly jaw. “Heavy on my tongue, almost in my throat, want to taste you. Oh--” He tilts his head back and groans as Mike sucks a broad hickey at the base of his throat. Mike licks the sweat off Bill’s collarbone before he pulls away. The salt blooms across his tongue. “W-w-want to wuh-wuh -- mmm--work you open while I suck you.”

Mike’s hips rock of their own accord, trying to rub up against Bill’s thick thigh and press back against his questing hands at the same time. “Yeah, honey. Come on. I want your sweet mouth on my cock.” Bill slides down his body, leaving a trail of hot kisses across Mike’s chest and stomach that make him arch his back. He snags the lube off the bedside table before the haze of need consumes him entirely and drops it on the bed beside his hip, where Bill’s now resting his chin. Bill smiles sweetly. Mike runs his fingers through Bill’s soft hair and smiles back. 

When Bill’s warm mouth closes around Mike’s cock, Mike cups his hands around Bill’s head and holds on. The muscles in his stomach are already twitching. Bill slides down smoothly and moans, eyes fluttering closed like sucking Mike’s cock might make _him_ come. Mike lets his own eyes drop closed, settling into the steady motion of Bill sucking him. Bill’s never hurried about sucking cock, prefers subtle motions of his tongue to gagging in a rush to make Mike finish. Mike gives himself over to the wet heat of Bill’s mouth, gasping or twitching occasionally when Bill flicks his tongue against the head. 

Mike’s eyes snap open when he hears the click of the lube bottle opening. He grabs a pillow from behind him and props his hips in time for Bill to sneak one slick finger between his cheeks. Bill bobs his head on Mike’s cock once, twice, and then takes Mike to the root as he slips his finger inside. Mike moans, full-throated, one of his legs thrashing out of his control. Bill pulls off just long enough to grin at him before he swallows him down again. 

“Bill,” Mike moans, petting his hair frantically. He pushes forward into Bill’s mouth and rocks back onto one of Bill’s fingers, then two. By the time Bill’s stretching him open with a third, Mike’s saying Bill’s name with each breath. He’s taut and shaking with how close he is. He tugs on Bill’s hair now, fingers as close to Bill’s scalp as possible to minimize the chance of accidentally yanking hair out. Even as close as Bill is, he wants him closer. Mike aches with that need. He’s consumed by the feeling of being inside Bill as Bill’s inside him, a continuous feedback loop of pleasure, two pulse-points of connection. 

Bill crooks his fingers, and “yes,” Mike grits out, legs trembling, and “yes,” Mike pleads, and “yes,” Mike’s back arches off the bed and he comes down Bill’s throat. He clenches around Bill’s fingers with each spasm, and each clench sets him off a little more. He shakes and shakes like the leaves in the wind outside until Bill finally pulls off. A little trail of Mike’s cum spills from the corner of Bill’s mouth to his chin. Bill swallows audibly. 

“Lover,” Mike sighs. He cants his hips up so Bill can gently slide his fingers out, and then he reaches for him. Once Bill’s in his arms, Mike’s tongue is in his mouth, on his lips, on his chin, lapping him clean. There’s nothing strange about tasting himself in Bill’s mouth. It just makes him ache again with that need to swallow Bill whole. 

Mike rubs the small of Bill’s back. “What can I do for you?” With one hand, he cups Bill’s cock where it leaks against his stomach. With the other, he strokes the soft skin over Bill’s tailbone. Bill whines, hips jerking. “Do you want me to suck you? Finger you? Eat you out?”

Bill groans. A pink flush stains him from the top of his head to the middle of his chest. Mike grins. “Oh, is that it, huh? You want my tongue in you?”

“P--puh-pl--Mikey,” Bill says helplessly. 

“I hear you, lover.” Mike presses a kiss to each of Bill’s pretty red cheeks and one to his fallen-open mouth before he takes him by the hips and rolls him onto his stomach. Bill’s ass is dotted with freckles. Mike has to kiss each one of them before he spreads Bill open and licks a broad stroke over his hole. 

Bill falls apart almost immediately. “Mike, mmm, your m-your mm-your mouth, _fuck,_ your--pluh, pluh, please, in me, in me, yes,” he says, jerking and then relaxing when Mike presses his tongue into him. Mike goes as deep as he can, digging his fingers into Bill’s hips and hauling him closer. He groans every time Bill clenches around his tongue. He can’t go again this soon, but Mike feels pulled apart in a different way, like a hole’s been carved in him just for Bill to make a home. 

Mike laps at Bill while Bill kicks his feet against the bed. Bill’s words dissolve into moans that occasionally resolve into “more” or “Mikey” or “please.” Mostly, he’s crying out wordlessly, bucking on Mike’s tongue and rutting against the quilt. Mike reaches up with one hand and strokes his sweat-slick back soothingly. 

“Mike,” Bill sobs. 

“Hmm,” Mike hums against him. He can feel Bill spiraling closer by the tension in his spine. He rubs his thumb along the thin vein in Bill’s wrist and pulls back just enough to rasp, “I love you.”

Bill sobs again. He’s trembling finely. When Mike licks back into him, he also reaches around to wrap his hand around Bill’s cock. Bill whines, high-pitched and shaking, through the first few slow strokes. Then a groan punches out of his chest. Mike hides his smile in Bill’s ass. He goes as deep as he can with his tongue and swipes his thumb over the head of Bill’s cock. 

When Bill starts to come over Mike’s knuckles, he yells. All the noises he makes after that are the same sound over and over: “Mm, mm, mm,” the opening of Mike’s name. Mike hums back against his twitching hole and feels his chest spill over with affection. Each pulse of cum over his hand makes him feel warm and safe and loved. 

Mike lets up when Bill starts to whine. He lets Bill roll over before he licks the cum off his hand. Bill watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving. “Lover,” Mike croons.

Bill’s chin trembles. Mike lies down beside him and pulls Bill against his chest to let him collect himself. “Mikey,” Bill says finally, voice soft and relaxed. “I love you so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, Big Bill.” Mike nuzzles into Bill’s hair. “Want to set an alarm? Give us twenty minutes to doze before we shower?”

“Mm. Yeah. We should put the qu--the quilt in the washer,” Bill says sleepily. 

“Good luck explaining that one to Mrs. Williams,” Mike teases. The laundry room is right next to the guest room.

“Mrs. Williams can mind her business.” Bill burrows against Mike and yawns. Just from his voice, Mike can tell that he’s smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Come check out Georgia Peaches on Twitter for Streddie, nonbinary Stan, and other great experiences!


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